I snort when I laugh, sing when I cook, and dance when I write.

Tag Archives for heartbreak

In the midst of relating the story of a recent puppy rescue, he interrupted and declared, “Stop rescuing puppies and trying to fill holes. This is why we didn’t make it in the first place. You spend too much time on your animals and not enough time on your relationship and your boyfriend.”

I stopped for a beat, took a deep breath, and recalled the actual reasons we didn’t make it–an insidious network of lies that I am only now beginning to unravel, plus the many side affects of his alcohol/drug abuse including a desperate need to pursue sexual liaisons with multiple partners.

Not being one to take the bait, (among other things he’s a bully and loves to stomp you into submission via futile argument) I finished my story about the puppy.

When we hung up, I sat for couple minutes and thought about what he said…then I smiled to myself, grabbed my phone, and messaged the rescue organization to tell them how certain I was that I’m that puppy’s new mom.

I can write with 100% certainty that every moment I’ve spent on rescue, ie., healing and loving an animal, has been worth it and I am good with that. Yeah, this is America–he is entitled to his opinion about that but I’m also entitled to my happiness.

Right now it just so happens that means waking up to one cat sitting on my pillow purring into my ear as the other sits on my chest purring into my heart, a foster puppy’s head gently resting on my shin while she sleepily gnaws on her doggie bone, and Singer’s cold wet snout burrowed into my armpit snoring loudly.

Someday (soon I have a feeling), there will be another human body symphonically snoring next to me, and (I also have the feeling) he will have no problem with my super-hero side job of being an Animal Rescuer.

All my life I’ve interpreted the world through 4 mediums: cooking, writing, music, and athletics. Thankfully, I’ve channeled a variety of emotions, people, places and things into them and almost always come out the better for it.

Part of this includes me “hearing” my loved ones through music, and “feeling” them through writing. The same goes for events and experiences, whether they are challenging or joyful.

Everything, everyone becomes a song in my head and phrase in my heart. Maybe that sounds better the other way around, but that’s what just came out of my fingers, so I’ll leave it for now. Now these songs, these words, they’re private and very meaningful to me, so I don’t share, much less give them away. Which is why this revelation will be a surprise to any of my close friends who are reading this. I’m sure they’ve had no idea.

What everyone DOES know is, the last few months have taken quite a bit out of me.

What with losing a job end of January, pneumonia in March, an accident in mid April and now the sudden death of my beautiful German Shepherd last week, you’d think (hope) That’s That. Got all of the bad stuff done, gone, out of the way now, just have to get through the residual tying up of loose ends and finito.

Unfortunately, it’s not.

Because while all of this was going on, I was also handling an exhausting (though significant) relationship that took a header, making a rapid and steady downhill climb into a never-ending limbo…

To say I idolized the man, outstaying my welcome while putting up with far too much B.S. is an understatement.

This is not meant in my defense, but just like everything else in my life, he had a song.

It wasn’t mine at all. Not one single piece of it. Whenever he was an a**hole, I’d hear this and just move through, telling myself his struggles were much deeper than mine and that he deserved to be loved too, no matter what he’d done.

But here and now, I take responsibility for being cloudy headed and letting myself become “less important”. I’m the reason I didn’t protect myself well enough or quickly enough. I’m the one who ran myself into the ground. But the rest of it? That’s on him.

One morning a couple weeks ago, I sat at the table making a to do list in my daily calendar. All of a sudden I found myself writing the following:

“I give him precious pieces, which he casually deposits in the junk pile on the counter for the housekeeper to throw away with the trash on Fridays.”

I got up to pack my things, and as I began surveying the house to make sure I wasn’t leaving anything behind he said, “Don’t worry if you leave something here, you’ll be back tomorrow.”

One of the very first records I memorized as a kid was part of a George Jones and Tammy Wynette collection. It was this song that I sang during chores and hummed on the bus ride to school. Although I was too young to understand the context, I loved it because of its heart. In fact, I still sing my own out to this melody every chance I get.

Even Grandma’s disapproving stories of George’s hard-drinkin’ and cheatin’ ways did not hold sway over my adoration of this man. He just seemed to bring that out in folks. I recall reading his memoir the same year I packed my bags, got on a plane, and headed to Colorado.

Man, that book was a hoot. Truly. But underneath all the anecdotes, you could hear his real voice, and I understood what he was made of.

Over the years, it’s been a sure bet that if a country singer emulated him, I was going to be an instant fan. I think Alan Jackson put it best, ““Not everybody needs to sound like a George Jones record, but that’s what I’ve always done, and I’m going to keep it that way — or try to.” It’s how we country folk pay our respects to great people.

Reading through all the tweets and posts of today’s stars, I am comforted by all of my favorite singers united display of genuine sorrow. Someone’s going to have to step into his shoes now, and they’re some pretty big ones to fill.

Sometimes I’m just sittin’ in a lawn chair with a beer at sunset, and others I’m in a full out gazelle sprint with the waves roaring next to me and ocean air whistlin’ through my hair. Those are my favorites. There is something incredible about feeling the power of your legs and the strength of your heart pumping furiously as you fly over the sand at Mach 12.

But when I’m actually (and physically) on the beach, my dreams are much different. Lying on a blanket with the scents of salt air and sunscreen and the rhythmic rush of water puts me into some kind of trance. It’s like I get my whole life–past, present, and future–to page through like my favorite storybook from childhood. I can pause over certain passages, contemplate, and suddenly understand why I am where I am, and what it all means.

I’m sharing this so y’all won’t be (too) surprised when I hang this sign up someday in the (hopefully very near) near future and disappear for awhile.

When I return you can bet there will be stories, good ones, and plenty of ’em.

It ain’t just for under-the-weather-sniffles anymore, it’s actually quite helpful in any kind of potential sniffle-ing situation. In fact, I am one of it’s Biggest Supporters in the comfort food category.

Here’s the Rest’A the Dirt:

Last week had its Ups and Downs.

Well, ok–more Downs than Ups. By Friday, I was in serious need of sustenance.

I also needed rejuvenation, ie., diversion.

Real Dancing. Like, where I actually put on The Shoes, wore The Dress, and smoldered/pranced my way through dance partners? Check.

Live Music and unabashedly singing Mary J. at the top of my Lungs in a local watering hole? Affirmative.

Hard labor up in a mountain stable while singing and whistling love songs to My Horse? Yep.

BUT, and this is a BIG But (if ya didn’t notice), none of that would’a done Squat if I hadn’t cooked up a batch of Thai Coconut Chicken Curry in my slow cooker.

Just look at that. This Sh** could Save The World from the supposedly impending Zombie Apocalypse. Am I right? Y’all Know What I’m Talkin’ Bout, I can feel it.

Eat for breakfast. Take some for your lunch at the stable. The cowboys may be indignant you didn’t bring any for them too, so make sure you have enough to share. Continue slurping every chance you get, or until things start looking up and the color returns to your cheeks.